Roses
by lfvoy
Summary: Commander Chakotay promised to support Captain Janeway as she carried out her plans against the Borg. He didn't promise to like those plans. She knows that, and she leaves him a message of goodwill in a time and a manner only he will understand.
1. The Waiting Begins

_Written as an episode addition to "Unimatrix Zero, Part One"  
Rendered non-canonical by "Unimatrix Zero, Part Two"_

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_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Voyager_ are the copyrighted property of CBS Studios, Inc. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

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**Roses**

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**The Waiting Begins**

_"So far, so good. Tom, I think you can back us off now."_

Paris didn't look any happier than I felt, but he followed the order. I returned to the first officer's chair while he moved _Voyager_ out of the Borg cube's range. As we had guessed, now that the Queen had what she wanted, she didn't pursue. Behind me, I could hear Rollins and Kim coordinating damage control. We'd survived.

Casualties were remarkably light – if you didn't count the destruction of the _Delta Flyer_ and the supposedly-temporary loss of three senior staff – so there was little for me to do until the end of my shift except brood. Down at the helm, Tom Paris appeared to be in a similar mood, but at least he could complain under his breath about this whole thing being a lousy idea.

I wasn't so lucky.

I'd offered Kathryn my support. I hadn't agreed to like the idea, and I didn't, not one bit. But I had given her my support; I wouldn't withdraw it now.

As soon as I felt like things were relatively stable, I left the bridge and headed for my office to go over the damage reports in peace. I didn't have the heart to quiet Paris since, deep down, I agreed with him. All the same, listening to him did nothing to improve my mood.

Two roses were lying on my desk.

One was yellow, the color of friendship; the other was pink, the color of peace. They were still fresh, and the stems had been trimmed at an angle to help them last a little longer. I picked them up and found a card underneath.

_I hope I can have these back when I return._

She hadn't signed the card, but I've seen Kathryn's handwriting enough times to recognize it. It's not at all what you might expect: neat, with well-formed letters and the occasional decorative flourish here and there. Nothing frilly, or fancy, but definitely not the hasty, illegible scribble you might associate with her personality.

I must have stood there for ten minutes, turning the roses around in my hands and thinking about tangents like Kathryn's handwriting, before it finally hit me. "Computer, run an internal sensor scan of the captain's ready room."

_"Scan complete."_

"How many roses are in the vase on the coffee table?"

_"Ten."_

Earlier today, there'd been twelve: six yellow and six pink. I knew this because I'd given them to her myself, just a few days ago, on her birthday. One for each year of peace and friendship, I'd explained, since we were thrown into the Delta Quadrant.

She'd looked up at me with that smile on her face, the one that cuts right to my heart when I let it. "Oh, Chakotay, they're beautiful. Thank you."

"Happy birthday," I'd said, with a smile of my own. "And thank _you_ for the most memorable years of my life. Even if I did have to get stuck on the other side of the galaxy to have them."

Her eyes had crinkled at that, as I'd intended, but they were also suspiciously shiny. She'd reached up and laid a hand on my cheek for a few moments of silent communication before turning away, saying something about putting them in water so they wouldn't wilt.

They'd been in the ready room the last time I'd been in there, when she asked for my support with this crazy mission. Even though I wholeheartedly agreed that we can't pass up any chance to undermine the Borg, I didn't like the idea of deliberately putting the ship in that much danger. It was necessary, though, and I knew it. I had covered my discomfort with a joke, but something in Kathryn's eyes told me she knew how difficult a decision it had been.

Now, she'd given two of the roses – one for peace, one for friendship – back to me. When had she had a chance to get them from the ready room? It couldn't have been an easy thing to do without my knowledge, since I had been on the bridge for most of the rest of the afternoon.

And then I understood what she was trying to say. That she understood and appreciated the effort it required for me to let her do this, even if I hadn't been able to offer everything she wanted. That she hoped she hadn't imposed too far on my friendship and support.

I walked over to the replicator and got a vase of water for the roses, careful not to bruise the stems when I put them in. I firmly secured the vase to my desk; I wanted them to stay there, safe, until Kathryn got back. Because I will return them. I'm holding her to the promise implied on that card: that she'll be back, safe and sound, to accept the roses back from me.

She'd better hurry. Roses only last a week or two after they've been cut.


	2. The Waiting Ends

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Voyager_ are the copyrighted property of CBS Studios, Inc. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

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**Roses**

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**The Waiting Ends**

The first thing I saw was Kathryn's eyes.

Three hours had passed since Tom and Harry had successfully returned with her, B'Elanna and Tuvok. This was the first chance I'd had to get down to sickbay. Although Kathryn's gamble had paid off – the Borg had annihilated themselves – _Voyager_ took a fair amount of damage in the final stand-off. I'd been needed on the bridge.

Or at least that's where I thought I should be. It was only when Harry took the padd out of my hands that I realized how distracted I'd become.

"Commander," he'd said, "all due respect, but I think we've got things under control up here. Why don't you go down to sickbay."

I'd raised a brow. "Already feeling the new rank, are you, Lieutenant?"

He'd smiled in response, but didn't give the padd back. "Only being observant. I know you're worried. Besides," he added, fingering the second pip on his collar, "I'm not sure I want to be around when the captain finds out how you decided to surprise her."

"So you'd prefer I go ahead and tell her in sickbay."

"Well...yes."

I'd laughed, but left the bridge. I didn't go straight to sickbay, though. Instead, I got off the turbolift at deck two and stopped by my office.

Amazingly, the roses were still on the desk; the vase had stayed secure even though we'd taken quite a beating. I'd stared at them for a long moment. The yellow rose had opened up, but the pink one remained in a bud. They would survive a few more days.

Kathryn had held up her end of the promise and come back to _Voyager_; I was determined to hold up my end and give the roses back to her. Not just yet, though. Not until she had come completely back to us. To me.

Satisfied with the roses on my desk, I'd gone to the replicator and spoke a few words. Then I'd gotten back on the turbolift and gone to deck five, where sickbay was located.

When I walked through the door, the first thing I saw was Kathryn's eyes.

Everything else faded away. I knew that we couldn't possibly be alone – Tuvok and B'Elanna had to be in sickbay, too, and probably Tom and the doctor – but I wasn't aware of anyone else. The only person I saw was Kathryn, lying on a bio-bed. Her skin was as pale as death and her hair was gone, but it was still her. It was still the same Kathryn staring out from behind the same eyes.

At that moment, I knew she would come completely back to _Voyager_, and soon. And I knew that something, some reality unacknowledged but inarguably present, had changed between us. That something would never be the same.

Kathryn moved an arm and reached toward me. Her lips soundlessly formed my name. In an instant, I was beside her, wrapping my hand around hers. "I'm here. How are you feeling?"

"She'll be fine, but I haven't managed to restore her vocal cords yet," came a voice from her other side.

I looked up to see the doctor standing there, holding a medical instrument in mid-air; apparently I'd interrupted some procedure. I started to step away to let him finish, but Kathryn's hand twisted, squeezing my fingers. I looked back down and was immediately caught in her eyes again.

"Can we have a few minutes?" I managed to ask.

Nodding slightly, the doctor moved toward another patient. Tuvok, I noticed absently.

Kathryn raised her other hand. She seemed to be reaching for my face, but the arm fell back weakly before she succeeded. I squeezed her hand again. "I'm glad you're all right."

She tried to say something, but I shook my head, not understanding. "You can tell me later. I'll be here. Don't exert yourself right now."

Kathryn closed her eyes briefly and then opened them again. She mouthed my name once more, then something else, another word. This time, I understood.

_Roses._

"They're still alive," I murmured. "And you'll get them back. I promise. But for now..."

I picked up the hand that had fallen, and gently wrapped the fingers around the gift I'd replicated in my office. Since she didn't have the strength, I lifted her hand to her face so she could see and smell and feel the single, new rose.

The petals were white, the color of purity, the color of strength. I'd had then tipped, though, in blue. The same blue as Kathryn's eyes, the eyes that had haunted me in my dreams while she was gone, the eyes that met mine now.

_Blue_, she mouthed. She'd understood. I nodded. Blue is the color of healing.


	3. The Aftermath

_Star Trek_ and _Star Trek: Voyager_ are the copyrighted property of CBS Studios, Inc. This fiction item is intended for entertainment purposes only. No compensation has been received or will be accepted for it, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended or should be implied.

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**Roses**

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**The Aftermath**

Kathryn looked up. "Did you just ask why I'm not talking to you? Really? Then why is my mouth dry?" To emphasize the point, she took another sip of her after-dinner coffee.

"Oh, we've talked," I answered. "But about _Voyager_, about the Borg. About our latest report to Starfleet."

"What else is there to talk about?"

"You." She'd just returned to full duty today, and already I was worried about her. Both Tuvok and B'Elanna had sought out some means of dealing with the psychological after-effects of their time as drones. Meditation, or a new holo-program, or extra time with friends. And other members of the crew – most notably Tom Paris and Seven of Nine – had also sought some means of emotional resolution.

But I knew, because I had checked, that Kathryn hadn't.

I had tried to tell myself that I would have been just as concerned about any other member of the crew. Each time, I would just about convince myself of this until I remembered the look that had passed between us in sickbay. Something about that memory compelled an absolute honesty inside. I'd lost sleep the past few nights.

Kathryn stood and walked to the view port, staring silently out at the stars. I joined her. "I was wondering how you've been holding up."

"Fine."

Did she really think I believed that? "You've been willing to talk about everything _except_ the fact that you were assimilated. You haven't spent any time in the holodeck, or the mess hall, or anywhere, really, except your ready room or here by yourself. You haven't smiled, or laughed, or even rolled your eyes at Tom's jokes." I stepped closer to the view port so I could turn and face her. "Kathryn, you're not 'fine'."

She closed her eyes, but didn't answer. Behind her, on the table, I could see the two roses I'd returned to her this evening. Beside them, in a smaller vase, was the blue-tipped white rose I'd given her just a few days ago, just after she'd returned to _Voyager_.

Friendship. Peace. Healing. She needed so much.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked gently.

"I know I need to," she answered, turning toward me. "But I'm not sure I'm ready."

As she turned, the starlight caught something on the right side of her neck. Concerned, I looked closer. There were two small, circular scars there. They were relatively fresh, but fading quickly. One more dermal regeneration treatment would probably eliminate them. I found myself reaching up to brush them before I realized what had to have caused them.

Kathryn flinched away, hard, with a hiss of what might have been pain.

I dropped my hand. "I'm sorry. Did that hurt?"

"No. It's all right." But she didn't turn back toward me.

After a long pause, I stepped around to face her again, and this time, when I reached for the scars, it was deliberate. "It isn't good...to remember so much pain."

I rubbed my fingertips against the skin, tracing the line of her neck, intentionally turning the touch into a caress. I wanted her to have a memory of pleasure to counteract what was obviously an agonizing recollection of her assimilation.

Kathryn raised her eyes to mine, and she slowly brought her hand up to cover my own, intertwining our fingers. It was only then that I realized she was trembling, shaking from an onslaught of memories. By the look on her face, they weren't pleasant at all.

I slipped my other arm around her waist and drew her to me. She pressed her face against my shoulder, but she didn't cry. Rather, she clung to me, shuddering silently in response to the emotions that were surfacing. I just held her, stroking her hair and back.

I would have given just about anything to spare her this pain.

She'd never let me do this much before. Never accepted more than the most token of comforting gestures, never let me see her shaking and scared like this.

Oh, she'd been more open with me than with other members of the crew, but there had still always been a shield, a barrier between us. It hadn't been born of protocol so much as from a need for her to believe in her own strength. I'd never pressed, knowing how much she needed that belief.

In that moment, I understood what she'd tried to tell me in sickbay. Maybe not the words, but the intent, the meaning behind them. In that moment, I accepted the truth I'd been avoiding.

I could see the vase on the table when I looked over Kathryn's head. The pink rose, still a bud just a few days ago, had opened completely.

There's an alternate meaning for pink roses. Sometimes they represent the beginnings of love. But it could wait. In that moment, she needed peace and comfort, friendship and healing.

Kathryn secured our future by defeating the Borg. I would have time to make it a future worth living.


End file.
